The Smallest Person
by Aerlinnel
Summary: Ficlet, a little fluffy, a little angsty. Pippin slash – but no Merry! Amazing, huh?


When I'm reading, every now and then a passage will pop out at me and inspire a subplot like this one. This story is exclusively book-based, since Gildor Inglorion and his Wandering Company didn't make it to the big screen. My advice to those of you who don't recognise Gildor: go read the book right now!

The drill: the characters belong not to me but to the great Tolkien; I've also incorporated text/dialogue from the book itself.

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"_They now marched on again in silence, and passed like shadows and faint lights: for Elves (even more than hobbits) could walk when they wished without sound or footfall. Pippin soon began to feel sleepy, and staggered once or twice; but each time a tall Elf at his side put out his arm and saved him from a fall._"  
– _The Lord of the Rings_, I:III

After the second time, Pippin at last roused himself enough to look up at his benefactor. Tall he was, of course, as is Elvish wont, but he had a glory about him that Pippin thought the other Elves lacked. Bright, thoughtful eyes shone down on the weary Hobbit. "It is a pity that small Halflings cannot learn the way of sleeping and walking at once," he said, his voice soft and silvery.

Pippin was sceptical of this remark – he felt as if he were lost in a waking dream. Black Riders and fair wanderers of the woods were beyond his sphere of understanding, and seemed to have strayed straight out of a story such as Bilbo used to tell him. "What is your name?" he asked at last.

The Elf smiled. "I am called Veduiel Galreviol, brother of Gildor, of the House of Finrod. Who are you, young pilgrim?"

"Pippin. That is, Peregrin Took, but most folks call me Pippin," replied the Hobbit, oblivious to the incongruity he presented in the otherworldly scene.

"Pippin…" repeated Veduiel slowly, savouring the word, as if there was a sensory pleasure to it beyond the normal euphony. "Well, Pippin, what are you doing wandering so late? For it seems to me that you are not used to walking abroad at night."

"We—" Pippin caught himself and glanced uneasily at Frodo, who was walking ahead of him. He knew of Frodo's burden and his mission thanks to some subtle espionage and information gleaned by Sam, but as of yet everything was strictly mum among himself, Sam, Merry, and Fatty Bolger; and Frodo knew nothing of what they had discovered. It was peculiar that he had kept his real purpose a secret from his closest friends, and Pippin felt that he would not be so covert unless his reason was desperate.

Veduiel was looking down at him curiously. Pippin fell back on the story that Frodo had himself given to the other Hobbits. "Frodo is moving to Crickhollow from Bag End, and we are accompanying him there. And a lucky thing, too, if we are to meet any more of these Black Riders!"

A tremor passed through the Elf, and his voice was smothered. "I fear that it makes little difference to the…the Black Riders, as you call them, whether they encounter one Hobbit or twelve. The Enemy cares naught for those whom he thinks too small to be of import."

Pippin was taken aback by this dismal statement, and he spoke no more until the company turned off the path onto a broad greensward. Veduiel continued on to the centre of the lawn, and Pippin nearly walked into Sam before he noticed that the two other Hobbits had stopped. "Are we there?" he asked, unsure why he was whispering. The Elves had seated themselves on the grass some distance away and were speaking quietly amongst themselves.

"I think so," replied Frodo, his tone also low. "Look!" He pointed east, below the hill they stood on, where the lights of a town flickered in the night. "That is Woodhall, so we are in the Eastfarthing. This is where Gildor said he meant to stop for the night." They waited in silence for a minute, half-expectant, but nary an Elf glanced in their direction. "Well," Frodo said finally, "I suppose we might make ourselves comfortable here."

The Hobbits settled down on the starlit grass, swathed in cloaks to ward off the chill of the night. Pippin felt a lovely warm lethargy creep over him as he watched the stars in their slow, intricate dance above – first the Netted Stars, Remmirath as the Elves called them, then Helluin, the ice-blue crystal. At last, the bright ruby of Borgil, the shoulder of Menelvagor, peeked over the horizon. As the Swordsman gradually climbed into the sky, Gildor and his brothers cried out in joy. "_Ai môrdhagnir!_" they sang, lifting their arms in reverence and orison.

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Ai môrdhagnir,  
Lasto mîn 'lir!  
Le egleriam, Maethor Dhaer,  
Em i northam nef Aear.  
Lathro a berio ammen  
O bar lîn athan ardhon hen.  
Ádanêl, lîn acharn telitha:  
Hen istam; degithach i dhûr iâ!

Though Pippin did not understand the words, they seemed to him as a shaft of sun piercing a ceiling of rainclouds; his pulse beat faster, and an inexplicable elation buoyed his mind. Beside him, Sam sat transfixed, his eyes reflecting the light of the stars and the Elves. Frodo looked intent, lips parted slightly, as he tried to decipher the Elvish lyrics.

The song ended. Gildor looked to the Hobbits, laughing gaily at their rapture. "Come!" he called. "Now is the time for speech and merriment. Come join us!"

Pippin blinked and shook himself. In his distraction, his cloak had fallen from his shoulders, and he shivered, aware again of the cold. Veduiel was suddenly before him, picking up the cloak. Gently he wrapped it around Pippin with hands as warm as the mantle. "There is a fire in the hall, and food for hungry guests," he said softly.

"The hall?" repeated Pippin questioningly. The Elf led him along the lawn and, to Pippin's wonder and delight, there _was _a hall, with interlacing branches overhead for a roof and mighty tree trunks as pillars. He was shown to a seat on the grass by the fire, with an ancient stump at his back. Elves were going hither and thither with food and drink: without quite seeing where it had come from, Pippin had a loaf of fine white bread, soft and with a taste like honey; and there was fruit, better than any he had ever et in the Shire, and his cup was filled from a flagon that held a rich, golden elixir. The meal, excellent to begin with, was only improved by the long day's march; Veduiel, sitting near Pippin, was amazed at the quantity he managed to tuck away. "This is but poor fare," he exclaimed, laughing, "for we are lodging in the greenwood far from our halls. If ever you are our guest at home, we will treat you better."

Frodo, not far away, looked up. "It seems to me good enough for a birthday party," he said after swallowing hastily. Sam still said nothing, but ate with his head up, eyes roving constantly, paying nearly more attention to his surroundings than to the food.

After a while, the enchantment of fire and food started to work on Pippin, and his eyes began to close. Frodo was deep in conversation with Gildor, and Sam was nodding at his side. Pippin felt himself lifted in strong arms and carried out of the hall. He was laid on a bed of springy turf, surrounded by the pungent scent of pine. A cool hand alighted briefly on his forehead. "_Mae losto_," whispered a soft voice. Near-silent footsteps moved away.

The sleepy fog cleared suddenly from Pippin's mind. "Veduiel!" he called.

The Elf turned. "Yes, little one?"

"Don't leave." Pippin sat up. "I'm not tired now."

"Oh no?" replied Veduiel with a smile, but he returned and sat by Pippin. "What would you, then?"

"Tell me a story," said Pippin eagerly, "something to do with Elves; something happy. I couldn't bear anything unhappy tonight."

"There is much sorrow in the history of the Elves," Veduiel said, and sadness briefly darkened his expression. "But there has been joy as well. I think I will tell you of the Awakening in Cuiviénen, far in the East, when Elves – my ancestors – first saw the stars."

It was a long tale, but engrossing. Sometimes Veduiel segued from the Common Tongue to Elvish and back again, but even the words that Pippin did not understand impressed themselves on his mind and translated themselves into images. It was he who first lifted his eyes to the night sky; he who breathed a gasp of awe; he whose mouth was opened and cried, "_Ele_!" in a great rush of ecstasy. To Pippin, the stars, which before had been mere pretty jewels decorating the heavens, became true symbols of the love of Elbereth, the Star-kindler, who set lights in the sky to illuminate Middle-earth and its people.

The story ended, and Veduiel sighed wistfully. "Why did Elves leave that wonderful place?" Pippin asked.

"The Valar summoned us forth from Cuiviénen, to make the Great Journey west unto Aman, the Blessed Realm."

"But you never reached it?"

"We did," the Elf replied quietly, "but we are Exiles. We returned to Middle-earth after Morgoth destroyed the Silver and Gold Trees of Valinor. But that is a bitter memory, and I wish not to speak of it."

He was long silent, sitting with his knees drawn up and arms clasped around them, huddled as if he were cold. Then, in a soft voice, he began to sing.

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A galaidh anmelui,  
Gwanûn vain, celebren a mallen,  
Tîn calad tóliel uin i ardhon.  
Ias sîlar si?  
Nedh er-elei 'ern;  
Ú-tírin den.

Pippin was quiet, watching the starshine as it vied on the Elf's face with his own inner light. His heart stung with the grief of the tune, and without thinking, he laid a hand on the other's arm.

Veduiel seemed to tremble at the touch. He looked down at the small hand, his mouth working as if to speak. At last, he said in a low voice, falteringly, "It is the way of my people to grow to love someone slowly, gradually, since we have all the ages of the world at hand." After another long pause, he continued, "I do not know what spell you have cast upon me, small one. Perhaps this is the way of mortal love, sudden and fierce. But my heart says it is real – and I – I may never see you again…" And he glanced uncertainly at Pippin.

Pippin sat quite still. He had had a tumble or two before with one Hobbit lass or another, so he was not so very naïve, but he had never been attracted to another male, and had never thought to be. And yet he had never met anyone like this Elf, who glowed with a beauty that transcended masculinity or femininity. He was looking at Pippin now, and his eyes spoke mutely of distant music, and lonely flowers under a golden sun, and other faraway things that the Hobbit did not completely understand; but most of all, they asked a wordless question. Slowly, Pippin closed his own eyes.

The Elf's lips were two melting moonbeams, cool as night and yet searing Pippin's whole being through one careful kiss. He inhaled a fragrance that reminded him of a summer evening in the Shire. Long, pale fingers wove themselves gently into his hair. Pippin was suddenly ashamed of the grime of travel that covered him, fearing that he would somehow tarnish this perfect beauty, but Veduiel seemed not to notice. His hand moved to caress the Hobbit's face, then trailed delicately to his chest. Pippin felt all the air in his body escape in a sigh that was not quite a moan. A burning desire washed over him, making his muscles fluid. Veduiel caught him as he sank backward, and laid him tenderly on the grass, smiling down at him. "_Lend perian_," he murmured, "sweet Hobbit."

"Beautiful Elf," replied Pippin in a whisper, as Veduiel's mouth claimed his once more.

*****

Pippin woke before the Sun rose to find the Elves moving about silently, setting the place to rights ere they continued their journey. Nearby lay Frodo and Sam, where they had been shown to sleep not long after Veduiel left Pippin the night before. "My brothers would not understand," he had said softly before he went, laying kisses on Pippin's eyelids, as the Hobbit drowsed in his arms. "I hope that you do."

Rolling onto his stomach, Pippin studied the forms of his two sleeping friends. Somehow they appeared realer than Veduiel had been, yet less vivid. The Elf's body had left no imprint on the grass, but the taste of him lingered still on Pippin's tongue, and there was a remnant of the scent of cool moonlight in the air.

Pippin sensed, rather than felt, a breath of movement behind him, and turned to find Veduiel standing over him. It seemed to Pippin that the Elf was speaking to him through his eyes, words of love and gratitude and regret for what might have been, and unconsciously he responded, inarticulately expressing all the emotions that he had not the eloquence to voice aloud. Finally, he said, "What did you want me to understand?"

Veduiel looked puzzled, then his face cleared with comprehension. "Why," he answered simply.

"Why…me?" Pippin clarified, and the other nodded. "Well, I have to admit, I _don't_ understand."

"Do you not?" The Elf knelt in a single liquid movement, reaching out a hand to smooth back Pippin's hair. "Because I, ancient as I am, cannot remember the last person – Elf, Man, Dwarf, or Halfling – who has stirred me so with their pure innocence."

"Innocence?" Pippin repeated, questioning, good-humoured.

"Innocence!" Veduiel said emphatically. His face grew shadowed, almost haunted. "Never lose it! Never let go of it! There are more fell things in the world than you have ever dreamed!"

Pippin was startled and taken aback by the outburst. Contrite, Veduiel took his hands, pressing them apologetically. "I meant not to frighten you, sweet small one."

Despite himself, Pippin's curiosity was wakened. "Are you – are you talking about the Black Riders?" he asked.

The Elf hesitated. "Yes," he said slowly, "they are one matter, yes. Do not ask further," he added quickly, forestalling Pippin's queries, "such things are evil to speak of!"

There was a great pain in his eyes; Pippin subsided, and looked down at the graceful fingers that intertwined with his own. At last, Veduiel broke the silence. "I must leave soon with my brothers," he said, his sorrow audible in his voice. "Would that I might tarry here with you! But I came here not to lament over what cannot be."

"Why did you come, then?"

He traced with a fingertip the contours of the Hobbit's face. "I came to thank you for the great gift that you have given me."

Pippin laughed self-consciously. "I should thank you, then, too."

A smile torqued the corners of Veduiel's mouth, though he remained earnest. "I spoke not quite of that," he replied, "though I am grateful for that as well. But you have…reassured me; you have restored my faith that there is yet some purity in the world. I am old, old almost as Middle-earth itself, and I am weary and grieved by her suffering, and by the Darkness that grows daily from the East."

Such age was beyond Pippin's comprehension. "It must be lonely, being immortal," he ventured.

The Elf smiled, but the smile faded; he bent his head wordlessly and pressed his lips to Pippin's hands, and a single crystal tear fell on the Hobbit's wrist. Troubled, Pippin gazed down at the bowed golden head. "Veduiel…" he began.

Veduiel looked up at him, love shining like the wet streak on his cheek. "My own," he said, and kissed Pippin nearly roughly, his open eyes speaking volumes of misery. "_Ai Nienna_," he whispered against Pippin's mouth, "I want nothing more than to stay with you, my sweet one, my dear love. I know…I know I cannot. But, blessed Valar, how it hurts! I wish…I wish…"

Pippin wrapped his arms about the Elf's neck and laid his forehead against the other's. "I love you," he said softly.

Veduiel gave a chuckle that was half a sob. "By Elbereth," he replied fervently, "I love you, my little _perian_."

How long they sat there, nose to nose, breath mingling between them, lips a hairsbreadth from touching, Pippin could never precisely recall afterward. He felt his pupils dilating from the unbreaking gaze, and it seemed after a time that he could look into the depths of the Elf's eyes and see back to the birth of the world, hear the very first note of the Ainulindalë, the Music of the Ainur. He wondered whence the knowledge came, for not even the Firstborn were so old; perhaps Veduiel could see the same within Pippin's eyes.

The quiet was broken suddenly by a low birdcall. The Elf blinked and stiffened. "The signal," he whispered. "They are ready to leave." For one eternal moment, he sat motionless, a fierce war being waged on his face.

As every fibre of his being cried out in protest, Pippin disentangled himself from his lover's arms. "Go, beautiful one," he commanded, his voice cracking as he forced unwilling vocal cords to obey him. "They are waiting for you."

Veduiel was absolutely still, a lone tear working down his cheek. Then he smiled again, and this time the smile strengthened and did not waver. "Yesternight I heard Gildor name your companion Elf-friend. You I christen Elf-love, albeit a clandestine love. Wherever you go, there will my heart be. I will never forget you, though a thousand ages lie between us." He leaned forward and bestowed the lightest of kisses on Pippin's brow; to the end of his days, whenever the night was waning into dawn and the nightingale was singing, Pippin could feel the exact spot on his forehead tingle, and his throat would tighten with an undying ache.

"I have no title to give you," he said humbly. He paused, but could think of no more to say. "I love you," he finally finished.

Veduiel stood, and to Pippin he seemed an ethereal, supernatural figure, a blend of gold and silver edging his body where pre-dawn sunshine met Elven light. "_Namárië_." The farewell was barely breathed, but it seemed to reverberate endlessly within the clearing of the wood, until Pippin was amazed that Gildor and his folk did not come to discover its source. With a nimble grace, Veduiel ducked from the bower and disappeared, his form engulfed in the brilliance of the rising Sun. He was gone.

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Endnotes:

"one Hobbit or twelve" – "The Eldar preferred to reckon in sixes and twelves as far as possible" (_The Return of the King_, Appendix D).

*Ah, Dark-bane,  
Hear our song!  
We praise you, Great Warrior,  
We who dwell on this side of the Sea.  
Hear us and protect us  
From your dwelling-place beyond this world.  
O Star-man [_Ádanêl = A Adanêl_], your vengeance will come:  
This we know; you will slay the dark void!*

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[A/N: The constellation Menelvagor is believed by the Elves to be Túrin Turambar, one of the Edain, who was cursed by Morgoth and unwittingly married his own sister, then fell on his sword when he discovered the truth. Túrin was set in the stars by Elbereth to be a symbol of the protection of the Valar from the evils of Morgoth, and it is said that the hero will return from the dead to face Morgoth once more in the Last Battle.]

*O most lovely trees,  
Beautiful twins, silver and gold,  
Their light is gone from the world.  
Where do they shine now?  
Only in dreams of old;  
I cannot find them.*

Nienna is one of the Aratar, the most powerful of the Valar. She is the daughter of Ilúvatar, and her realm is that of grief and mourning. "Those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope…she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow to wisdom" (_The Silmarillion_).

Many thanks to the Encyclopedia of Arda (http://www.glyphweb.com/arda) for providing invaluable help with the bits of Middle-earth traditions and beliefs.


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